


Piss off your parents

by Anonymous



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft youtube, irl people - Fandom
Genre: Anarbor-18 inspired, Background Relationships, Coming of Age, Dream is a bro, Georgenap, M/M, Sexual Themes, Underage Drinking, Weed, he/him pronouns for author, multiple parts, slight age gap, slight daddy issues, slight fetishisation of age gap, slightly toxic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After getting a fake ID and going into a bar, Sapnap finds himself chatting up a handsome stranger. What will happen with their relationship? And what is Dream hiding from him?Based off Anarbor song 18
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70
Collections: Anonymous





	Piss off your parents

Dream was right, he should’ve realised Dream would be right from the start, he should’ve listened to Dream and thrown the dollars into buying a game or a book or a whole four months of Netflix premium instead of using Dream’s accounts—he could’ve gotten half a year of normal Netflix and had some left over, he could’ve paid one fourteenth of a ticket to Athens, he could’ve paid for a ticket to Orlando with Spirit, he could’ve—

But instead he’s filled with anxiety, sitting at a bar tapping his fingertips while looking at the drinks list in awe and disgust, his eyes looking around with intrigue. He has never been to a bar before (nor has he drank before—more reasons he should’ve listened to Dream when he said not to do this instead of just putting his phone in airplane mode.) Everything is new and exciting about the chattering around him, the laughter of men his dad's age, the inside joke everyone around him seems in on but he isn’t. It’s nerve wracking but so cool. He feels cool sitting in a bar of adult conversation. So many people are laughing loudly, heartily, as if nothing in the world could bother them. There’s a back table where a couple is sat, leaning over each other and giggling to each other with drunk affection. And he loves the feeling of being a fish out of water.

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

The accent is foreign, intriguing, his head turning to look at the speaker even before he realises the words are for him. The man has short, straight, hair and a blue hoodie that hangs off his shoulder in a way that indicates it’s oversized. The man is leaning against the bar with one arm, eyeing him with a chair pulled up behind him, waiting for consent before sitting down. 

“That sounds good,” he responds slowly, blinking up at the male as he sits down. His arms rest on the table and the younger's eyes trail over them just to note that the sleeves are pulled up and rolled to arm, just above his elbows with a watch on his wrist with two rings on his pinky and middle fingers respectively. They’re pretty, blue and obviously made of plastic almost like the ones you get from a repurposed gumball machine.

His fingers are pretty too, the younger notes with a blush rising up to his cheeks, they’re graceful and elegant with a tiny and he almost wants to put them in his mouth, suck on them for just a moment—maybe a bit longer than that but who is to judge him for his desires? 

“What did you want?”

The question shakes him from his thoughts, eyes gracing up to his face and by that his eyes, brown as chocolate with an air of secrecy to them—if eyes are the window to a soul, his are unreadable and tinted.

“Beer?” He slurs, embarrassed by the childishness and highness of his voice. 

The other seems to blink at him, slowly, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough he’s writhing in his skin, terrified of being caught in a bar just because a pretty stranger promised to buy him a drink. But the other seems to recover, reaching over the table at an angle where the younger can trail his eyes over his shaved jawline.

The older sits down again, turning his eyes to the younger with a small smile coating his pink lips, “My name is George.”

“I… um.. Sapnap?” He speaks, embarrassed again, goddamnit why can’t he just say his actual name instead of his fucking gamer tag like a twelve year old.

“Nickname?” George asks with a laugh, taking a hold of his drink and eyeing the younger, “Smart. Wouldn’t want to have some creep knowing your real one.”

“My Buddy Dream came up with it,” he slowly takes a small sip at his beer, getting a soft chuckle from the other, “Whatcha laughing about?”

The older leans in closer, lips brushing over his ear as he whispers, the younger leaning closer just because of how oddly nice the sensation is, “First time drinking huh.”

He falters, putting the drink down and looking over to the other, looking around for a moment before stumbling something out, admittedly it’s the truth but the truth is also considered something or another. It’s at least part truth, his age can be secret, “Ye-Yeah. I came from school, I’ve never been particularly rebellious or anything so yeah this is my first night out.”

He seems to soften, eyes looking over to him before he eyes the bar again, his smile speaking for itself—he doesn’t mind, that much is obvious, maybe it’s because of his British accent and how they do shit in Britain or whatever but somehow he just doesn’t, “So. Where’s your school?”

Sapnap looks around, thinking about it, taking another small sip of his beer before deciding where’s the harm, leaning back the slightest bit in the squeaky bar stool underneath him, “Somewhere in Houston.”

“I’ve never been,” George replies, his fingertips tapping the bar, “Do all you Houston boys do this type of thing? Act like they know everything but actually learn as they go?”

“Are all you Brits bullies?” Sapnap questions in return, looking at how rhythmically the fingers tap, how they seem to be piloted by someone who has good control over them, not one thing out of place with complicated patterns as the long hands and middle—maybe even shortish, fingers continue to tap.

“Do all Texas boys stare?” George asks, playful in tone yet intent to tease as Sapnap looks away from him, a blush forming again.

“Are all British boys cute?” He asks, half playful, looking back to the other to see a slight blush forming on his cheeks, his finger playing with his own hair as he looks at him.

“I’m afraid that’s just me,” George speaks, the air around him turning onto this perfect mix between a forced confidence and humour, almost as if he were unsure of if it was serious or not and if he should be serious in return, “Are all American boys attractive enough to buy a drink for or is this just you.”

“I only want to be attractive enough for that if it’s someone like you buying it,” Sapnap speaks, leaning forward with a faked confidence that falters as soon as the graceful and smooth hand from the other goes on his thigh, another one reaching his shoulder as if to actively pull him closer when he hasn’t even had his first kiss yet. He’s pretty sure his five purity is quite high, probably significantly higher than Dreams or especially the man with painted glass eyes, Georges. He’s willing to bet George has maybe half of his score just from how gentle the hand on his thigh feels—inviting, in a good way.

“I’d buy you a drink again, if you asked,” George responds, leaning forward with his mysterious eyes and can he call this hot, can he call the uncanny ability to hide everything he feels attractive, “You look like someone I would do a lot to get home.”

Sapnap blinks, slow with the hand caressing his thigh slightly slowing his brain power (as well as the adrenaline of being in a bar and with this guy that is at least twenty one and so much more experienced) but once he gets his brain together he lets out a tiny noise, a small little ‘please’ as if he were overwhelmed already. He didn’t exactly want to go home with someone but now that it’s out there it seems like the best course of action.

“I live pretty close,” the Brit explains, standing up to his full glory with the shirt reminding Sapnap of something—a band or something? It’s only when he reads the Anarbor written across his shirt that it reminds him of the band dream showed him a few weeks ago, of the same name, “You should come home with me.”

“To yours?” He asks, careful, as if skating on thin ice instead of having a conversation. His heart pounds in his chest at the idea though his head is at war between the logical left, the thoughts of kidnappings and robberies and murders his teachers told him about—and the right side that wants to try, wants to see how this will go, wants to see him in a new light, “I—can I tell my friend I’m going?”

“Is your friend here?” George asks, eyeing the bar as Sapnap shakes his head, carefully unlocking his phone and getting it off airplane mode before his fingers take him to his ten unread discord messages, three from a server his school friend group has (probably if he did homework—which he didn’t, it’s Saturday), four more from a cosplay discord he joined with Dream ages ago and hasn’t bothered to leave and finally three from Dream,

‘Just please don’t get hurt if you have to go.

I really care about you, dude, I hope you don’t think I’m trying to ruin your fun or trying to make you feel bad. I just don’t think it’s a good idea but you’re so very important to me and I’m really sorry if I upset you voicing that opinion. I know you can take care of yourself but I just don’t want you getting hurt. I’m sorry.

Hope you are having fun if you went in <3’

His fingers brush over the keys, sending without really thinking beyond just wanting to let Dream know, ‘going home w/ som1, if I'm not home tomorrow call the police on a 5’9 man called George with pretty hands and brown hair and eyes thanks.’

He looks back up to George, smiling before pocketing his phone and looking around, walking behind George as the older man explains he got them an Uber, Sapnap standing next to him anxiously to wait on said Uber just outside the bar.

“What’s your major?” George asks, to start more conversation he presumes, but he couldn’t have asked a worse question of him right now, looking down at his feet and mumbling something—even Sapnap himself doesn’t know what.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” George says, leaning in closer to listen, Sapnap facing up to find their noses almost touching, chewing on his lip and looking down at the others—they look soft, pretty, like they would feel really good against it, he wonders how many people George has kissed and if he could take the lead over him, his mind wonders further when George leans in even closer to the point the tips of their noses are against each other, “I didn’t quite hear you.”

He wants to lean in that tiny bit more, feeling the others hands on his hips as his eyes widen. George seems unbothered, taking his moment to slightly lean forward yet again, tilting his head so their noses don’t awkwardly crash against each other while Sapnap panics internally, wondering if it’s too late to ask Dream to please help him with the pretty British guy leaning over him, looping his hands on him, about to kiss him. He wonders if Dream, having had his first kiss at the ripe age of thirteen, would please help him with his for just a moment, if he knew that he was about to do this and comforting him through headphones, saying that he’s doing a good job, Sapnap would be so much more confident in this than just letting the other lead.

The kiss is short—loveless yet gentle, sweet without too much push. It’s the kind of first kiss he could have begged to have, the kind where he wants to melt and his knees wobble and wow, wow he’s actually as good as he expected—he’s better, he’s like that prince in a hallmark Christmas movie. European, beautiful, dark in features yet skin like porcelain. He’s like a doll, he’s skinny and barely taller than him but he’s perfect. And suddenly he feels guilty for lying to this masterpiece of a man, guilt running over him at the way his eyelashes flutter with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m,” Sapnap starts, turning red as he tries to think of how to say what he wants. He’s uncomfortably warm, like on Christmas Eve, but it’s nice.

“That was,” George starts instead, grinning and running fingers over his cheek, “Have you kissed before?”

“Is-is it that obvious?” Sapnap asks, cheeks reddening and terror crossing his features at the idea he didn’t enjoy it as much as he did as George laughs, nodding,

“It’s okay. There’s plenty of time to learn tonight.”

“I’m, George,” Sapnap says, breathing in deep, “I’m not twenty one.”

“How old are you?” George questions, slightly pulling away, Sapnap feeling like sobbing at the alarm in his tone.

“I’m eighteen, my birthday was three weeks ago. I promise I have real papers, do you want them?” Sapnap asks, digging his hand into his bag and going through to find said papers. He can’t lose this yet—not yet. Why is he so stupid? Why did he do this, “here just look at it, please, I promise I’m over age.”

The other's hands grab onto the driver's permit, looking at it while looking up at the near sobbing man occasionally, smiling softly, giving the permit over and taking his hand, “Okay.”

The Uber arrives moments later, Sapnap timidly sitting in the back with George on the way to his place, getting into a heated kiss as soon as the address is given.

He does lose his virginity at the end of the day.


End file.
